


A Ski Holiday

by SumeragiSakura



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Crushes, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Skiing, Snowboarding, Teen Greg, Teen Mycroft, Teen Mystrade, Winter Sports, winter sports AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-13 19:25:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12990882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SumeragiSakura/pseuds/SumeragiSakura
Summary: Teen Mystrade AU where Mycroft gets roped into a long ski weekend with a few classmates. He’s determined to keep to himself but the universe has other plans.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Snowball Fight/Winter Sports. While trying to write a small ficlet for each prompt I got sidetracked by this idea for a teen Mystrade fic. Whoops! I’m going to try writing one or two more chapters using other prompts and see where it goes. I hope you like it!
> 
> I don’t own them, neither beta’ed nor britpicked.

The ski lift stopped short causing the lift chair to swing heartily back and forth for the third time. Mycroft's long suffering sigh billowed out in a grand puff of steam. Indistinct shouting and laughter reached his ears from the top of the slope and he lamented having to share the lift with people who didn’t know how to disembark properly.

Truthfully physical activity was not usually Mycroft’s style but skiing was the exception. Unlike most other sports there were no insufferable teammates to deal with and no idiot coaches screaming at him over whether he kicked a ball the right way. Here there was only himself, the mountain, and muffled shush of his edges slicing through the pure white fluff. He could be alone with his thoughts and his parents were happy he was getting exercise of some kind. 

This particular ski trip had been something of a sore point for weeks. Featuring three full days on the slopes and evenings filled with holiday themed activities it had been planned out between several different schools to afford their students the opportunity to meet and socialize. Since only one of those things appealed to him Mycroft dismissed the possibility of going immediately.

Of course once his parents found out about it they urged him to go nonstop, eager for him to mingle with kids his own age. Mycroft never failed to remind them that he would rather gouge out his own eyes with a rusty spoon than be forced into inane conversation with his peers but that didn’t stop them from trying. Eventually it came to a point where Mycroft felt he had little choice in the matter. The alternative would be to stay home with his parents disappointment and Sherlock pestering him to play pirates all weekend. In the end he agreed to go only for the skiing, fully intent on ditching any and all holiday socialization activities. 

Finally reaching the top of the mountain he made sure to turn in the opposite direction of the rowdy group of teens before him. He took his time inspecting the different trails for one that wasn’t too crowded. There was a sparsely populated black trail but he wasn’t feeling quite that ambitious. He passed, hoping to find something challenging but not potentially life threatening.

Further down he was pleased to find a red trail with only two riders milling about the top. The slope itself was clear, at least as far as he could make out. He maneuvered around the chatty skiers and started off, gliding effortlessly back and forth over surprisingly loose powder. Mycroft supposed they must have recently finished blowing fresh snow. As he turned a corner giddiness bubbled up in his chest. This part of the trail was almost as deserted as the start. Only a handful of bodies were visible down by the next curve in the trail. 

With no one to avoid for at least the next few hundred meters he grew bold. He angled his skis directly in front of him and tucked in his head and arms, curious to see how fast he could go. Far away trees on either side passed in a brownish blur. He heard nothing save the crisp air as it whooshed by ever faster. Up ahead off to the left a bit he saw two orange flags denoting a jump. In an exhilarating split second he decided to go for it, turning his body slightly to aim directly between them. 

He held himself steady until he could see the edge of the ledge, then pushed off. He soared through the air, suspended over the glittering whiteness below for one long, perfect moment. He remained cool as the ground raced up and made sure to bend his knees to absorb the shock of the landing. Skis met snow without so much as a wobble. 

Mycroft blinked incredulously as he raced away. He hardly ever successfully accomplished anything requiring physical skill! He cheered and turned his head to see if he could gauge how far he’d jumped. _Eyes forward, idiot!!_ his brain screamed at him a second too late. Suddenly his boots popped out of his skis. All he saw were indistinct flashes of white and black alternating in his vision as he tumbled arse over tit into the snow. When he finally came to a stop he felt dazed. A sick army green color radiated behind closed eyelids and he could hardly breathe. A panicked voice registered in his ears.

“…re. Oh Christ, are you alright mate? Damn, where’s the bloody ski patrol?”

Mycroft groaned in protest. “…’m ok.”

“I seriously doubt that. You flew pretty far. Can you open your eyes?”

Mycroft carefully cracked his eyes open against the brightness of the sun struggling to break cloud cover. His goggles must have flown off along with his skis. Numbing pain prickled his fingers and he added his gloves to the list. A red gloved hand popped into his line of vision. “How many fingers?”

“Three.” He coughed.

“Hmm, well that’s a good sign at least. Oh, here they come.” The hand vanished.

A member of the ski patrol peered down at him next. She systematically evaluated his condition, checked his pupils and ensured he had no broken bones, praised him for his use of a helmet. As if he would risk the use of his mind in a misguided demonstration of masculinity like some other boys. He was able to stand though he was considerably sore. 

Once he was upright he noted a figure in a grey and blue jacket was making his way back and forth on the slope, carefully avoiding other skiers as he went. The mysterious man that had come to his aid most likely. He hadn’t gotten a good look at him while he'd been flat on his back.

“You don’t appear to have a concussion. You’re very lucky, that was one nasty tumble you took.”

“Indeed.” Mycroft replied tersely, feeling a fool. 

“Do you want a ride down in the sled or do you think you can make it on your own?”

Mycroft hesitated. He didn’t want all those pitying, curious eyes on him in the bright red sled. At the same time he wasn’t sure he could last all the way down on his own.

The man in the blue coat approached carrying Mycroft’s gear. He held Mycroft’s gloves out to him. “Gloves, goggles, poles, and skis. Did I find everything?”

“Yes, that was very kind of you. Thank you.” Mycroft pulled them on and shoved both frozen hands back into his pockets, content to let the stranger hold his remaining items until he could feel his fingers again. “How much longer is this trail?” This directed at the ski patrolwoman.

“It’s not much further. I'd say about 10 minutes if you take it very easy.” Mycroft glanced uneasily down the slope. 

“I’ll ride down with you.” Blue coat offered. Mycroft looked at him questioningly while simultaneously sharpening his focus on the man. He couldn’t see much of his face but he could tell the boy was young, perhaps closer to Mycroft’s age than he’d assumed previously. If that were the case he was likely here as a part of the infernal school trip as well. No part of his kit matched the other. His blue and grey coat fit a tad snugly and showed wear on the cuffs. His gloves were red and his snow pants were black and white. He trudged around the slope in thick, bulky boots and carried no poles. A snowboarder who had ditched his board somewhere to help him then. Why? The boy smiled and held out a gloved hand. “I’m Greg.”

Mycroft warily took Greg’s hand. “Mycroft.”

“What?”

It was the same scenario every time. Mycroft barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. “My name is Mycroft.”

“Oh! Sorry.” His smile wavered a little in his embarrassment, but it was short lived. “Nice to meet you Mycroft.” He said with a firm shake of his hand. 

Mycroft shot him a dubious look as he pulled his hand away. “Why would you offer to ride down with me?”

Greg shrugged. “Because I feel at least partly responsible. You went flying after you hit the back end of my board.”

Mycroft wished for an avalanche to come and sweep him away from this humiliation. “Oh. I… I’m terribly sorry. It was no fault of yours. I’m afraid was a bit distracted.”

“Is that right? Be more careful next time, yeah? If you’d have hit me bang on we’d both be taking a sled ride right about now.”

“I’m well aware.” Mycroft kept the snark out of his voice knowing he deserved a lecture but he couldn’t help pouting a little at being scolded by someone his own age.

Greg grinned. “No harm done this time though. I was having some issues with my bindings anyway. Might as well have company on the way down.”

It was the preferable alternative. Though Mycroft thought he may regret it he turned to the patiently waiting ski patrolwoman and said “I’ll try to make it down without the sled.”

“Alright, but if you change your mind flag one of us down and we’ll come get you.”

He nodded and she pushed off, leaving Mycroft there with his new acquaintance. Greg held out the remainder of Mycroft’s gear. “Let me grab my board and we’ll get going.”

Mycroft would have liked the luxury of another minute to rest but his inactivity allowed the cold to seep into him through his triple insulated ski coat. Standing around any longer would only make him colder. Greg stepped up next to him with his board, a well worn Burton in black and green covered in various stickers and several gouges in the paint. He set it down and fastened his bindings but his left one loosened right away. “Dammit.” He muttered and refastened it.

“Are you capable of riding with a loose binding?”

“Not sure.” Greg admitted. “I knew it was getting old but I hoped it would hold out one more season.” He sighed dejectedly. “We’ll just take it really easy ok?” Mycroft nodded.

They set off at a leisurely pace with Mycroft slightly ahead. At first Mycroft’s body protested but as his muscles warmed up the descent became easier. Once in a while he’d glimpse Greg at his side easily gliding along as if nothing was amiss. Toward the end of the trail where the snow was packed hard under hundreds of riders before them Mycroft nearly caught an edge. He managed to compensate and keep on his feet all the way to the lodge. 

“Whew, nice save back there. That wasn’t nearly as hard as I thought it’d be.” Greg mused they approached the equipment racks. 

“You must be a better snowboarder than you thought.”

“Maybe.” Greg said dubiously. He pushed his goggles up onto his helmet and set his snowboard into an empty slot. “C’mon, let’s go grab a hot chocolate and warm up.” Greg suggested jovially. 

Mycroft wanted nothing more than to go back to his room to rest in private before his roommate returned. He turned from the equipment rack to tell Greg as much but when their eyes met his breath stopped entirely. Greg’s eyes were not unlike the hot chocolate he had suggested, sweet and already warming him from the inside out, though they were darker and far richer than any hot chocolate he’d ever sampled. His red tinted cheeks dimpled perfectly accenting his dazzling smile. Mycroft swallowed, thanking his lucky stars for the cold because he was certain Greg had just made him blush with nothing more than a look. He was flat out gorgeous and he hadn't even removed his helmet yet! _What sort of witchcraft is this? Is someone pulling a prank on me? God forbid, did my parents hire someone to make sure I didn’t spend all weekend by myself??_

“Mycroft?”

Mycroft sputtered inelegantly for breath. “Um, yes, sorry. Hot chocolate sounds lovely.” He mentally berated himself before the last word passed his lips. _What are you doing? Are you really so easily persuaded by a pretty face? You’re smarter than this!_

“Alright then. I don’t know about you but I might get a churro or something too. I’m starving!” Greg opened the door and looked back at Mycroft to prompt him through the doorway first, eyes glittering with good humor. 

The corners of Mycroft’s mouth curled up into a tiny involuntary smile. “Thank you.” He said as he stepped into the toasty lodge.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warming Up/Scrooge. Sociable Mycroft? He can be if he must.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2018 everyone! Sorry I havent responded to your comments yet, things have been more hectic than I expected. Just know that I read and appreciate every single one, you guys are the best! Here I have chapter 2 for you, still not beta’ed or britpicked and still not mine. Enjoy!

In the shuffle of the snack area Mycroft lost track of Greg. As he handed his money over to the cashier he seriously considered sneaking away. It would be a simple thing to blend into the morass of teenagers crawling about and head for the door connecting the lodge to the hotel portion of the resort. He could store the entire incident in the locked wing of his mind palace. A place he visited only when he needed a reminder as to why he was better off alone. 

He’d never see those eyes again if he pulled such a stunt though.

Two plush chairs arranged near the fireplace opened up while he shifted around indecisively. Not near one of the fake glass enclosed gas fireplaces scattered around the large room, but in front of the large wood fueled fireplace that served as the focal point of the lounge. Twinkling fairy lights nestled within festive pine boughs sat on the handsome wood mantle. Silver and gold glass baubles amplified their soft glow, making a cozy holiday scene. One might even describe it as romantic. 

His stomach clenched ever so slightly in a vaguely familiar way. Before he could second guess himself he made a bee-line directly toward the empty seats, set his hot chocolate down on the nearby side table, shed his ski coat and tossed it over the back of the chair furthest from him. Next he reached under his chin to unclip his helmet and his hand froze. His helmet. Only he knew the horrors that lay underneath after a full day of skiing. He couldn’t allow anyone to see it, especially not Greg! He didn’t have anything else handy to cover his head with. Maybe he should make his escape after all. 

“Ooh, choice spot!” Greg appeared holding two churros in one hand and a paper cup in the other, startling Mycroft out of his internal panic. “Is this chair for me?”

Mycroft nodded while he found his voice. “Yes, of course.” He confirmed softly as he moved his ski jacket out of Greg’s way.

“Thanks.” Greg set his snacks on the table next to Mycroft’s and removed his own coat. He plucked his helmet off without a second thought and used his other hand to fluff up his hair. Mycroft watched in fascination as it bloomed into an unruly mop of deep brown curls, several of which fell into Greg’s eyes in a most charming way. 

“How bad is my helmet head?”

_Nonexistent._ “Not bad at all.” Short of faking a sudden illness Mycroft was out of options. He nervously lifted his own helmet off his head, finger combing his disheveled hair as best he could. He reminded himself that his looks shouldn’t matter since more than likely Greg was not looking at him the same way he was looking at Greg. The thought only slightly lessened his worry and depressed him far more than he thought it should. 

“Yours isn’t that bad either.” Greg offered.

Mycroft side eyed him. “Lying won’t make me feel any better.”

“Well, maybe it’s sticking up a little on this side.” He mirrored the spot on his own head. “But it really isn’t all that bad. Here…” he rummaged around in his coat pocket and pulled out an azure blue knit cap. “You can borrow my hat for now if it’s bothering you that much.” He tossed it into Mycroft’s lap.

“Thank you. Again. I feel as though I owe you several debts of gratitude already.” He pulled the hat on and Greg gifted him with a grin.

“Nah, I didn’t actually do anything.” He picked up a churro and the hot chocolate. “Which reminds me, what had you so distracted up there?” 

Mycroft reached for his hot chocolate. “I had just landed a jump. Unfortunately I made the most rudimentary of errors and looked behind me. I never even saw you.”

“Oh, I know the jump you mean! That’s a sweet one innit? Let me guess, you wanted to know how far you went?”

“Yes. It was unforgivably stupid of me.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it too much. Everything turned out alright in the end didn’t it?”

“Quite right.” _Far better than I’d have guessed._

“If it makes you feel any better that jump got me too. I knew I should’ve taken it easy with my bindings as old as they are but I couldn’t help myself!” Greg sunk low in the chair, eyes fixed on the fire. “I’m probably going to have to replace them entirely and I don’t have enough money.”

An easy enough problem to solve in Mycroft’s opinion. “Why don’t you contact your parents?”

Greg snorted. “For what exactly? They barely scraped enough money together to send me in this trip in the first place.” He tilted his head. “I forgot for a minute you’re here with one of the posh schools.”

“I never said which school I was here with.”

“You don’t need to, it’s clear as crystal. It’s odd though, usually the rich kids avoid poor kids like me like the plague.”

_Fools._ “And with that I believe we have stumbled upon the administrator’s collective reasoning behind this trip.”

“They wanted rich kids and poor kids to make friends.”

“Precisely.”

“Seems like it’s working, don't it?” 

Mycroft couldn’t help smiling shyly into his cocoa. “Indeed it does. Trivializing your problem was not my intention. I apologize for not being more considerate.”

Greg laughed out loud and Mycroft glared at him in confusion. “Do you always talk to your friends so formally?”

Mycroft fidgeted with his cup. “I suppose so.” Acquaintances he had plenty of. Mostly other students he worked with in various student committees but no one he would necessarily classify as a friend. Funny how the fact now made him uncomfortable when it never had before. Greg suddenly grew quiet. Mycroft focused more intently on his paper cup. Several horribly embarrassing scenarios all involving Greg ditching him played through his mind in an instant. Not that he would care if Greg did so. Of course not. Why should he?

Instead of any of Mycroft’s visions coming to pass a churro appeared at his side. Mycroft looked over to see Greg stretched somewhat uncomfortably over the side table to hold the untouched second churro out to him. Greg sat back as soon as he saw he’d gotten Mycroft’s attention. “Want some?” 

Mycroft stared in surprise for a few seconds, then chuckled and broke off a small piece for himself even as he mentally scolded himself for indulging in so many sweets. “Thank you.” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you self conscious. I like the way you talk. Makes me feel smarter hearing it.”

Mycroft laughed at that. “Are you saying you don’t consider yourself smart?” He popped the churro into his mouth.

Greg shrugged. “Not at the moment I don’t. A smart person wouldn’t have taken that jump and screwed up his entire weekend.”

“Why don’t you take your board to the shop and see if they can’t repair it well enough to last the next two days?” 

Greg let out a long, heartfelt sigh. “I would have preferred to keep saving for new ones, but I’m going to have to. The sooner the better too.” With that Greg finished off the remainder of his hot cocoa. Mycroft tried not to let his disappointment show on his face but wasn’t completely sure if he was successful or not. “Will I see you later at the movie night?” Greg asked as he stood. 

Mycroft floundered a moment. Movie night fell into the category of ‘holiday activity’ and so he hadn’t planned on attending. Students were to meet in the hotel's grand ballroom to watch Christmas movies and have snacks. They were encouraged to wear pajamas and bring blankets and pillows, making it much like a large sleepover event. It sounded positively dreadful. And yet.

“You will. I’ll return your hat to you then as well.”

“Great! See you later then Myc.” He gave a short wave and turned away towards the front of the lodge. Mycroft sat back in the chair but did not pull his eyes away. Covertly he watched Greg until he could no longer easily spot him. He didn’t look back even once that Mycroft could see. He turned his gaze back to the fire. When anyone else, say his mother or his brother, called him Myc it irritated him but when Greg did so he felt exhilarated. Almost the same feeling he had while suspended in midair above the snowy mountain, all the while falling rapidly toward the ground. How curious.

_How ridiculous. How about instead of these frivolities you think about something useful? Like why would someone like him be so concerned with being your friend, hmm?_ That was easy enough. Greg himself admitted that he knew Mycroft to be from a ‘posh’ school immediately and had mentioned his lack of sufficient funds several times. He couldn’t overlook the possibility that Greg may try to use him. _Which is why you should go back to your room and forget about all this nonsense. Don’t get involved._

———

After dinner Mycroft convinced himself that no good could come of his attending movie night. He resolved to concentrate on school work and resting his sore muscles tonight instead. He would find another way to return Greg’s hat to him and try to enjoy the rest of his trip free from potential drama. Except that when he tried to put his plan into action he met considerable trouble. The words on the page flowed through his mind like so much water, not sticking to anything as they passed through. An hour passed in this way but he refused to give in. He tried rereading the same chapter a third time when the room door opened. Unexpectedly a young woman Mycroft knew well from student government stepped inside.

“Anthea? Where is Charles?” Charles being the roommate he was assigned. Not that Mycroft was particularly wanted Charles around either.

Anthea gave him a patronizing look. “Well, hello to you too Mr. Holmes.” She said sarcastically. “Charles wanted to spend some private time with my roommate, so he kicked me out. You’re stuck with me until movie night starts.”

“Who’s your roommate?”

“Lydia Branford.”

Mycroft sneered. “How unfortunate for you. What about your friends?”

“Not sure. They aren’t in their rooms and no one is answering my texts.”

Mycroft nodded. “Your company is far preferable to Charles’s at any rate.”

“High praise. I’m honored.” She set her bag down on Charles’s still made bed and made herself comfortable. Mycroft knew her to be sassy at the best of times and overtly so when she was annoyed, so he ignored her snarky comments.

“Are you seriously doing schoolwork right now?”

“What else is there to do at the moment?” He countered, not looking up from his book. 

“Literally anything. Practically all I ever see you do is work.”

“I see. Remind me, who has the highest marks in class?” Mycroft asked sweetly. 

Anthea glared at him. “That may be, but there’s more to life than working all the time.”

Mycroft mentally took back his preferable company remark. “Perhaps I should track down a chaperone and break up the little party in your room prematurely.”

“You could. But you’ll still have to room with Charles for three nights. I don’t think he’ll be all that agreeable after you tattle on him.”

This gave Mycroft pause. “You have a valid point. Alright, you can stay if you leave me alone and let me work.”

“Fine.” Anthea huffed and pulled out her phone. 

Mycroft turned back to the textbook but had no further success trying to absorb the information therein. After half an hour Anthea piped up again. “That chapter must be very interesting.”

Mycroft looked over to find her in the same position on her phone. “Have you been watching me the entire time?”

“No, just observing that I haven’t heard you turn a page yet.” Mycroft deflated and let his forehead hit the book with a soft thud. “Give it up for now. Movie night starts soon anyway. We should get ready.”

“I’m not going.”

Anthea set her phone on the duvet. “What? Why not?”

“Do I strike you as the pajama party type?”

“No, but this is a holiday! You’re supposed to do things you don’t ordinarily do while you’re on holiday.” She pushed herself up to a sitting position. 

“Be that as it may, I don’t relish the thought of appearing anywhere in pajamas.”

“That part is optional. Go in a sweater or something. Whatever you consider casual.” She waved her hand at him in a shooing motion.

He crossed his arms in front of him and balanced one ankle on his opposite knee, daring her to argue with him. “What if I simply don’t want to be bothered?”

A slow, evil grin spread across her face. She wore similar expressions when she was about to win an argument and Mycroft felt a hairline crack in his confidence. “Well, I guess that brown haired cutie from the lodge will be terribly disappointed then, won’t he?”

Mycroft maintained his position and narrowed his stare at her, steadfastly avoiding doing anything to admit her victory by imagining her dying in various gruesome ways right where she sat. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

She rolled her eyes at him hard. “Right. All the girls are tittering about the knockout guy seen talking with you and you don’t know anything about it?” Mycroft took a shaky breath in preparation to eviscerate her but she held up a hand to hold him off. “There’s no need to be so angry. I’m only trying to help you.”

“Is that so? Barging in here, snapping at me, ordering me around, and attempting to humiliate me is your definition of helping.” His could feel his face burning but could do nothing to stop it. 

“I’ll admit I wasn’t in the best mood when I got here.” She turned her phone over and over in her hands while she spoke. “But I’m not trying to boss you around or humiliate you. I’m trying to keep you from wasting your trip. Take a chance why don’t you?”

“Why do you even care?” Mycroft looked away from her to state angrily at the desk lamp. 

“Well, because we’re friends, aren’t we?” Mycroft turned his disbelieving gaze back on her and she looked at him pityingly, as though she thought him hopelessly thick. “At least come down to the lobby with me. If you change your mind you can always turn right around and come back here.”

So it came to pass that Mycroft found himself in a sweater and jeans fretting in front of the doors to the dimly lit grand ballroom. One of the double doors was propped open and inside he could see the flickering bluish glow of the large screen illuminating groups of students. Their chatter droned steadily underneath the movie soundtrack, nearly overpowering it. There were so many people it would be impossible that he could easily find Greg at this point. Even if he did they had only spoken for a grand total of about twenty minutes. Greg probably had heaps of friends already taking up his time and wouldn’t even notice if Mycroft were there or not. 

“So?” Anthea prompted.

He gripped the beanie tightly in both hands. “I… don’t think I can do this.” He muttered to Anthea. “Do me a favor and return this to him, will you?”

Anthea made no move to take the hat from him and instead put her hands on her hips. “Come on Holmes, I know you’re braver than this! Come sit with me and my friends for a little while. Annie saved some spots.”

Mycroft still didn’t like the situation but at least it had potential. A hint of promise, however small it may be. His other option of staring fruitlessly at his textbooks all night held none. “Alright.” Anthea nodded with a self satisfied smirk and they made their way into the darkened hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go Anthea, don’t let him wuss out! I always liked the headcanon that Anthea is Mycroft’s long suffering buddy of sorts. So what did you think?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scarf and Coat/Christmas Telly - ok so maybe it doesn’t fit the prompt totally, but close enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still no beta and no britpicker and all previous warnings still apply. I apologize for my terrible track record responding to comments on this story. It’s mostly because I don’t want to unintentionally give away where I imagine the story is going, so again please know I read and appreciate any comments I get! Thank you and on to chapter 3!

Mycroft stepped carefully around other students as he followed Anthea. All at once he became aware that he was still clutching Greg’s hat like a lifeline and quickly stuffed it into his back pocket, feeling as though he’d be caught out if he was seen holding it so tightly.

Anthea found her friends against the far right wall of the ballroom and Mycroft took a seat behind her. He got a few questioning stares but no one asked him anything directly since they knew him to be standoffish. Anthea dismissed their curiosity with a simple “I forced him to come.” They let it go for the time being much to Mycroft’s relief. Bad enough that Anthea knew why he was here, but if this whole group of girls found out? He shuddered to imagine what he would have to deal with.

As a result Mycroft continued his search as covertly as possible. It took a while but he eventually found Greg toward the back of the room. He was only close enough for Mycroft to make out his facial expressions as he talked and joked with the surrounding students.

Unsurprisingly among their group was a petite young woman who sat close to Greg’s side and frequently leaned up to his ear, presumably to hold private conversations with him. At one point something she said caused Greg to smile. The glow from the movie screen bathed his face in blue at the same time and Mycroft’s heart constricted at the otherworldly beauty presented before him. 

A growing bittersweet feeling spread through him as he watched them. He knew there had to be at least one girl. In reality there were likely two or three hanging off Greg’s arm at any given time. Still, some small part of him came here hoping against hope that Greg would be seated alone. Then Mycroft would have felt comfortable enough to approach him and try to pick up where they had left off earlier. As it was he would be forced to stay here stealing glances at him cozied up with her all night. 

“It’s considered rude to stare, you know.” Anthea murmured to him. He whipped his head around to find her smirking devilishly. Damn, she had been fully distracted by her friends when he turned to look last. He hadn’t even noticed them leave. 

“I wasn’t staring.” Mycroft muttered defensively.

“You really were. Why don’t you go say hi?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

She peered over his shoulder. “Why, because there’s a girl? Who cares? You can still go say hi to your friend.”

“I hardly think that would be appreciated.” 

She shrugged and slumped down a little against the wall. “Move a little bit to your right.”

“What? Why?”

“Dammit Holmes, just do it. A little further… there. Perfect, don’t move.”

“I thought it was rude to stare.”

“You were staring. I’m not. I’m observing as a neutral third party.”

“That’s not exactly true.”

“Shush now.” She held a finger to her lips. “And don’t turn around.”

He sighed hard and turned his attention to the movie. On screen a reindeer farted and Mycroft regretted every life choice that led him up to this point. 

Anthea’s friends Annie and Melissa returned a short time later their arms full of snacks. “What on earth are you doing Anth?” Melissa asked as she dropped a pack of chocolate biscuits in her lap.

“Thanks Mel. Give me a couple minutes here, ok?”

She shrugged and both of them rejoined the larger group of girls. _Thank God_ Mycroft thought, despite his doubt in God’s existence.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell them anything. Mel is the worst gossip I know.” Anthea muttered low so only Mycroft could hear her.

“How benevolent of you.” He replied in monotone. 

“I know.” She said with a cheeky grin. “He’s looking around. Almost like he’s looking for someone.”

Mycroft’s heart jumped. “That doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

“Maybe not. But I'd say the fact that he hasn’t said two words back to this girl sure does. I don’t think they're together. She wants to be but he’s not having it.”

She couldn’t be right about that. She hadn’t seen the ethereal smile Greg had bestowed upon her earlier. That hauntingly beautiful image would live with him long after this trip was over. “Do you expect me to take your opinion as fact?”

“If you were seeing what I’m seeing you would agree. I could get a second opinion if you like.” She glanced at him and he glowered back dangerously. “Didn’t think you’d like that idea.”

Mycroft sighed. “Why are you even doing this?”

“We’ve been over this already. I'm helping you.”

“Please stop. I don’t need your particular brand of help.”

She ignored him completely and stood up. “I need a drink to go with these. I’ll be right back.” She wound her way through the crowded room with surprising speed.

Mycroft almost fell for her ploy. Only when he turned to find that Greg had gotten up from his spot did he realize what she was plotting. His stomach clenched as he imagined what she might tell Greg without him standing right there. “Damn it all.” Mycroft cursed and scrambled after her. 

Back out in the hallway he caught sight of her heading towards the snack bar. Further down the hall he spotted a head of familiar luscious brown curls. He took off after them at a brisk pace, but not too fast lest he show his panic. Horror constricted his ribs as his two targets grew closer and closer to each other.

To his utter shock Anthea passed by Greg without so much as a turn of her head. Mycroft refocused on Greg walking toward him and felt time inexplicably slow to a crawl. He wore a pair of soft green and blue tartan pajama pants and a dark blue t-shirt with Chelsea’s football club logo on it. Recognition lit Greg's face as his eyes landed on Mycroft and his breath left him in a rush.

“Hi Mycroft.”

“Greg, good evening.” His voice cracked a bit on Greg’s name but Mycroft thought he recovered decently. “I was just, uh, going to get something to drink.” 

“Good thing, I've been looking for you.”

“R... really?” Was all Mycroft could get out of his mouth.

Greg chuckled. “Well yeah, we said we were going to meet up.”

“True, we did. I simply thought you… you wouldn’t have remembered. I mean, I thought you’d be occupied with your friends, not that you're… forgetful, or anything.” _Oh god, stop talking!_

There was that brilliant smile again. “Sure I remembered. I don’t want to take you away from your friends if you’re hanging with them already.”

Mycroft tried and failed to hide his exasperation at the mention of friends. “I’m sure they won’t miss me for a while. They seemed awfully absorbed in the film’s antics.” It was a far better excuse than explaining what his singular friend was actually absorbed with. 

“What? Poop jokes not holding your interest?” Mycroft crinkled his nose and Greg broke out in bright peals of laughter. The corners of Mycroft’s mouth involuntarily twitched upwards at Greg’s amusement. “Thought not! I’ve got to get away for a bit myself. Do you want to go exploring with me instead?”

Mycroft tried his best to play it cool. “Absolutely. Let’s get out of here.” He turned away from the snack bar but Greg stopped him.

“You can get your drink first if you want.”

“Right, of course.” He sighed internally as they turned back toward the snack line. _Is it possible for me to not be awkward once in a while?_

“But…” Greg looked around them, then leaned closer to Mycroft’s ear. “If you see a short girl with brown hair and a purple top coming this way, warn me.”

“Um… yes, I will.” Mycroft agreed, silently thrilled at Greg’s closeness. He spotted Anthea walking back toward the doors sipping on something through a straw. When she was almost directly behind Greg she looked Mycroft dead in the eye and winked at him before continuing on her way, not even giving him the opportunity to show her his indignation. 

No matter, he had far more pressing things to worry about, namely what exactly he should say to Greg as they queued up. The silence seemed to go on for an age as Mycroft wracked his brain for the right thing to say. He settled on asking why Greg was avoiding the girl he described when she appeared in his line of sight.

He cleared his throat. “A young lady fitting your description exited the ballroom just now.”

Greg’s shoulders slumped on a sigh. “That was quick.” Mycroft looked at her then back at Greg. Without thinking he grabbed Greg by the wrist and hauled him away from the snack line. “Whoa, Mycroft what…?” He sputtered, quickly falling in step beside him.

Mycroft released his wrist. “I thought you wanted to avoid her.”

“I do, but...” A female voice called Greg’s name. “Shit!” Greg abandoned whatever he was about to say and broke into a run. Mycroft followed suit. A chaperone yelled after them to slow down but they ignored him. Down the hall and into a conveniently open set of lift doors they left the ballroom behind them. 

They jostled the car in their haste and earned a snide look from the couple already inside. Greg and Mycroft shared a look and tried to act natural, but Greg shook with suppressed laughter and soon Mycroft too was struggling against his own giggle fit. An undignified snort escaped him right before the lift doors opened. They both burst into raucous laughter as the stuffy couple stepped off with a final scathing glare in their direction. 

The lift continued on it’s upward course. Mycroft leaned back against the wall and gasped “That was ridiculous.”

Greg wiped his eyes. “I’ll say! Did you see how pissed off they were?”

“I would be too, in all likelihood. They have been involved in an affaire de coeur for some time. This is their first trip together but the resort didn’t warn them that they were hosting rowdy teenage students this weekend. I might feel sorry for them if they weren’t married.”

Greg tilted his head questioningly.

“To other people.” Mycroft clarified.

“Oh! Hold on, how do you know that?”

Mycroft sobered up at that deceivingly innocent question. This was usually the point in any of his blossoming friendships that the other party would cut off any association. They’d likely never see each other again after this weekend anyway. Best to rip the plaster off quickly.

“It was quite obvious. On her end freshly retouched makeup when they checked in just minutes ago and are heading to their room now. New clothes that are far out of her salary range purchased on credit to impress him. She is hoping to return at least some of the items afterward based on the tags still attached to the coat, the blouse and very likely the skirt. The undergarments she’s stuck with and she considers that expensive enough.”

Greg’s eyes widened a bit. “I didn’t notice any tags.”

“She hid them extraordinarily well. And then there was her hair, salon styled mere hours ago.” The lift doors opened to admit some new passengers and Mycroft and Greg stepped off to continue in relative privacy. 

“He was far more subtle. His wedding band was freshly removed and put somewhere he will surely remember to put it back on before he returns home. His clothing was not new however he chose the best of his wardrobe for this trip under the guise of meeting with potential new business partners. He has lost a bit of weight since their tryst began as evidenced by the way his clothing was slightly too big for him. There was a jewelry box in his breast pocket, necklace more than likely, to commemorate their trip. Foolish considering she won’t be able to wear it beyond this weekend without raising her husband’s suspicion, but he wanted to give her something nice.”

Greg simply stared at him for a moment. “You got all that from a 30 second lift ride with them?”

Mycroft steeled himself and looked straight ahead. “Yes.”

“That’s incredible!” 

Mycroft started and fixed him with an incredulous look. “Really?”

“Yes really. Come on, you must know that already!” He nudged Mycroft lightly in the shoulder with his fist as they walked. “All I saw was that they were less than thrilled with us. Where did you learn how to do that?”

“It…” Mycroft stumbled as he reeled from Greg’s favorable reaction. “It’s simple deduction. You did something similar when you assumed I was from a well to do school earlier. I simply notice more detail far faster than average. My little brother shares a similar talent and we make a game of it, so I get a lot of practice.”

“Must be pretty useful.” 

They approached a large window and Mycroft took note of their new surroundings. The lift had let them out at some kind of enclosed rooftop lounge composed mostly of windows and skylights, designed so guests could take in the view of the mountainside in the daytime or gaze at the stars at night in a comfortable setting. 

In front of the windows there was a long built in table with high chairs where patrons could admire the landscape while they ate. They gravitated towards two empty chairs set far away from the bar at the other end. Light pollution from the slopes unfortunately blotted out some of the weaker stars but Mycroft was still able to pick out Orion’s belt and Aldebaran fairly easily. 

“It can be. Sometimes it’s more of a curse. People generally don’t appreciate others being able to see their shortcomings so readily.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t ask what you can tell about me.”

Mycroft narrowed his gaze. “You just did, in a roundabout way.”

“Can’t help being curious, but I won’t put you on the spot.”

“Thank you.” Mycroft laced his fingers and pressed his thumbs together. “If it helps, I don’t see anything bad about your character.” _Good going Mycroft. Why don’t you tell him all about how dreamy his eyes are while you're at it?_

“Good. I can guarantee I’m not a cheater at least.” Greg said with no small amount of bitterness. 

“Someone cheated on you.” Realization dawned and Mycroft’s heart sank. “The girl from earlier cheated on you.” _At least she isn’t a current girlfriend._

Greg’s mouth dropped open slightly. “Damn, you _are_ good.”

“I’ll grant you the same courtesy and not pry if you don’t want to discuss it.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Water under the bridge and over the dam for me. I caught her red handed necking with some jerk in his car a while back, maybe a month or so ago. I broke it off but this past week she started coming around and hanging on me. As if she can attach herself to my hip and pretend nothing happened.”

“Have you given her any reason to believe that might work?”

“Not so far as I know. I thought I was very clear that we were finished. Short of getting nasty with her I’m not sure what else I have to do.” Greg scowled out the window. “I'm willing to wager the only reason she’s doing this is because car jerk dumped her.” 

“Perhaps she realized she made the wrong choice?”

“Oh no, she made the right choice, I just wish she would have stuck with it. Ugh, I’m supposed to be having fun, not reliving relationship drama that should be over with by now.” He turned toward Mycroft and rested his head on his fist. “Have you ever had this kind of girl trouble before?”

Mycroft swallowed nervously. It was just his luck that the one topic he desperately did not wish to discuss came up immediately. “I have not. I’m not terribly popular with the fairer sex.” Hopefully that would keep Greg from following that line of questioning too far. 

“Really? How old are you? 

“Sixteen.”

“Eh, you have plenty of time for all that then. It can be fun but sometimes it’s more hassle than anything.”

“Spoken like an old man.” Mycroft scoffed. “I thought you were only seventeen.”

Greg's eyes widened with a spark of admiration and Mycroft knew he'd guessed correctly. It was an educated guess, but a guess all the same. “Really now, what kind of magic trick are you using?”

Mycrof smiled shyly back at him. “A magician never reveals his secrets. It spoils the enchantment.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to do that.” Greg gazed at him with that stunning grin and Mycroft’s heart fluttered uncontrollably. Simultaneously exhilarated and terrified his mind raced. _Is this… is he… flirting with me? Am I imagining this? Am I the only one feeling… whatever this is?_

“I… I've been meaning to ask how you fared at the repair shop?” Mycroft asked softly.

“Oh, I nearly forgot to tell you! Turns out they can fix my binding fairly easily. They agreed to do it no charge in exchange for me spending a few hours waxing equipment for them tomorrow morning.”

“Good news indeed. Your weekend has been saved.”

“Sure has! How about you?”

“Sorry, what about me?”

“Your fall. Are you sore at all?”

“A bit, but not enough to keep me from enjoying the rest of my trip. I may go out a little later tomorrow though.” 

“Glad to hear it.” 

“Hey, you kids can’t be up here.” Their intimate chat was rudely interrupted by a passing waitress.

“What? Why not? We're guests here just the same as everyone else.” Greg protested.

The waitress crossed her arms and scowled at them. “That may be but you're also _kids_ subject to your school regulations, which means no hanging around in pubs late at night. Come on, back down to the ballroom with you before I call a teacher.”

They reluctantly headed back toward the lift with the waitress close behind. “It’s just as well, curfew is coming up soon.” Mycroft offered.

“Already?” Greg asked incredulously. Mycroft held up his phone to show Greg the time, 14 minutes to midnight. “No shit. Time really does fly when you’re having fun I guess.”

_Fun? With me?_ “Indeed it does.” Mycroft agreed breathlessly.

“You know, if you’re planning to go up later in the day tomorrow, maybe we could go up together. My friends won’t waste slope time waiting for me to finish working. Not that I blame them, mind. We don’t get to come skiing very often.”

“That would be…” _wonderful, blissful, amazing, is it tomorrow yet?_ “perfect. What time shall I come round to the shop?”

“Hmm, good question. Swing by around 11:30 and we’ll see. Or better yet give me your mobile number and I’ll text you.” Greg pulled out an ancient iPhone and flicked through a few screens. “Ok, go on.” Mycroft recited his mobile number and a few moments later his phone buzzed. “That’s mine. If you don’t hear from me by 11:30 give a shout.”

“I will.” He confirmed, staring at his mobile screen.

Greg’s cleared his throat and Mycroft looked up at him. “Isn’t this your floor?” He tilted his head toward the open lift doors.

Mycroft coughed to cover his embarrassment. He hadn’t even registered that they'd stopped. “So it is. See you tomorrow Gregory.”

Greg laughed again as the doors shut. “Later Myc!”

Mycroft held himself together reasonably well as he weaved his way through the other kids finding their way back to their rooms and haggard chaperones herding them along. When he made it back to his own he ensured Charles was still out, then collapsed in a boneless mewling heap on his bed. _He said he was having fun with me! Me, of all people! He gave me his mobile number and he wants to go skiing with me tomorrow! He's not only handsome but kind and honorable as well!_

The logical part of Mycroft’s mind tried to reel in his excitement by providing depressingly realistic counterpoint to every euphoric thought. _This doesn’t mean anything. He isn’t looking at you in that way. Girlfriends, remember? Do not get carried away! You will be disappointed, as you always are._

Torn but still irrepressibly giddy, he sighed and pulled out his phone to save Greg's number properly. Turns out Greg had texted him again in the meantime.

**no one calls me gregory but my gram**

**No one save my immediate family calls me Myc. I believe that makes us even.**

**I don’t mind if you don’t**

**I do not mind. Good night Gregory.**

**night myc**

“Gregory.” He whispered as he allowed himself to indulge in a vision of how tomorrow would play out in his ideal world. He may be deluding himself but after the events of tonight there was simply no help for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I know it’s a bit OOC for Mycroft to be so mushy, but remember he’s a just a soft adorable teenager in this story. Also, while I firmly believe that TFP is only someone’s fever dream I have accepted the part where Mycroft avidly watches obscure romance films by himself in his home theater as 100% canon. As a result I see him with a serious romantic streak that he hides extremely well <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft gets a little taste of lovesickness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! It’s been a while since I updated this story (ugh almost 9 months) because I had some life stuff get in the way. I had absolutely zero energy for any hobbies including writing. Luckily last month the situation resolved and now I’m back hoping to continue this story through to the end. Still not sure how many chapters it will be, but we’ll find out! If you stuck with me so far, thank you!
> 
> Still not beta’ed or britpicked. Also I’ve ditched the prompts, this story is going where it’s going without them. 
> 
> NOTE: If you see underlined text it indicates our boys are speaking French. I can’t and wasn’t even going to attempt it.

The next morning Mycroft felt more like his unerringly practical self. Which, of course, meant he recalled his behavior last night with a fair amount of disdain. He had shown Greg all the dignity of the lovesick schoolboy he swore he would never be, then swooned over a few texts like a damsel in a trashy romance novel. How embarrassing.

_Not simply embarrassing! Unacceptable! You cannot allow another show of such utter weakness._

Mycroft glanced at his phone for perhaps the tenth time since he sat down to breakfast. Well, he supposed it didn’t count as _showing_ weakness if no one else witnessed his behavior. He flicked the screen open to their 5 text conversation even though he’d already committed it to memory.

_Pathetic. Put your phone down at the very least._

The moment he locked the screen it nearly buzzed out of his hand. Unfortunately it was only Sherlock grumbling about something Mummy was making him do. He sighed deeply and locked the screen again.

“Something wrong?” Mycroft jumped out of his skin. This time his phone ended up smack in the middle of his plate. Mycroft glared up at a surprised Anthea. “Whoops, didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that.” She set her tray down and handed him a few napkins.

“Typically when one sits alone it's because one wants to be _alone_.” He snatched the napkin from her and plucked the mobile out of what remained of his eggs. 

“You always want to be alone though.” She dropped into the seat across from him and lowered her voice. “And I saw you and dreamboat make your daring escape last night.”

“So did the entire resort, it seems.” Mycroft only realized that fact this morning as he noted strange looks and poorly concealed whispers following him around.

“So?”

“So what?”

“Sooo how did it go? Will there be a second date?”

“I’ll assume not, since there was never a first.”

Anthea merely smiled. “Are you going to hang out again then?”

“… presumably yes.” Mycroft considered it equally likely that Greg would hear the quiet snickers of his classmates and never contact him again.

Anthea’s smile grew. “Is that so? Now aren’t you glad I dragged you along last night?”

“Not entirely.” 

“Mmm-hmm.” She gave him the side eye as she sipped at her tea.

“I am perfectly aware that everyone else our age is preoccupied with chasing one another around like dogs in heat. I, however, have never been interested.”

She rolled her eyes but did not disagree aloud. “Oh, of course not. My mistake.”

“Yes. And... even if I were...” he added quietly “… it's not… he’s not…” Curious how he couldn’t say it aloud. Anthea understood him anyway.

“I see. I’m sorry Mycroft. I was rooting for you, really. At least you tried.”

He hadn’t really tried anything in his opinion, but he didn’t correct her lest she decide to offer her misguided but well-meaning ‘help’ again. “There is nothing to be sorry for. As I said before, I’m not interested.”

“Right, right, I know.” She paused for another sip. “Well, in any case, that wasn’t the only thing I wanted to talk to you about. Mr. Barrie is looking for you. He needs someone to play Christmas carols.”

“I take it I’ve been volunteered.”

“No one here plays piano better than you, he says.”

“Flattery won’t convince me.”

“Since when?”

“Since I have no desire to participate in any further holiday merriment.”

She shrugged. “Take it up with Mr. Barrie then.” 

“I’ll be sure…” he was cut short by his phone buzzing loudly on the tabletop. He looked toward it, heart suddenly racing. 

“Better check it. You wouldn’t want to keep him waiting now.”

“Anthea.” He warned.

She stood with a knowing smile and picked up her tray. “See you ‘round, Holmes.”

He picked up his phone after she was gone. It was only Sherlock again, this time accusing Mycroft of ignoring his plight. Mummy was taking him somewhere to distract him from the fact that Mycroft got to go skiing and he didn't. Somewhere not nearly as fun, according to him. 

**as if I wouldn't notice. does she think I’m an idiot??** The third message read.

Ordinarily he had far more patience with his little brother and might have tried to reason with him. Now, however, he was in no mood to cater to Sherlock’s infantile complaints. 

**For heavens sake Sherlock, just go with it and stop being such a child.** He got the expected handful of responses calling him variations of mean, fat, and ugly, to which he only responded **Childish**.

If only he could simply turn it off. 

All morning the same sour sort of mood clung to him. Restless, unfocused, and far more irritable than his usual. Bizarrely he wished for someone to talk to only distract him while simultaneously knowing he would have verbally skewered anyone who dared to try. 

His mood intensified to the point that concentrating on literally anything became impossible. He gave up and lay on his bed. _How wrenched! I must be falling ill._ If he were home he would have checked his temperature, though he didn’t feel feverish per se.

The clock struck 11am and he could delude himself no longer. It was no virus causing his discomfort, it was his anxiety about today. The unknown. 

_Preposterous!_ Crossed his mind at the exact moment as _What if I was right and he doesn't call?_ and Mycroft’s stomach threatened to reject his breakfast. He got up and paced as he considered his situation in an attempt to keep his meal where it belonged.

They had talked about possibly meeting up in the shop around this time. Mycroft didn’t want to seem at all invested in the outcome either way, which would be far tougher to accomplish if he showed up in person. _Yes, it’s decided. I should wait for a message at least. Wait._

The word repeated in his head as he stepped into his shoes. _Wait._

As he walked down the hall to the elevator. _Wait._

As his feet turned turned toward the ski shop. _Wait!_

As he stood in front of the doors. _WAIT!!_

He stepped inside and gave into an irrational _*completely rational*_ need to hide by immediately busying himself at the nearest merchandise rack. The shop was fairly large with displays high enough to make slinking about easy enough. He wove his way between the racks until he located the service desk, but Greg was nowhere in sight.

_What am I even doing here? How will showing up here not seem desperate and borderline stalker-like to him?_ Both very good questions he ordinarily would have considered carefully before taking any sort of action. 

_Seems you are every bit as foolish as your classmates after all._

“Mycroft?”

“Bloody…!!!” He barely managed to cut off his undignified cursing, then promptly lost all vocabulary as he came face to face with the object of his quest. So much for stealth.

“Oh geez, I’m sorry! I wasn’t trying to surprise you. You ok?”

“I’m fine, thank you Gregory. Greg! I mean, um, Greg.”

Greg smiled a little and the tension in Mycroft’s gut eased fractionally. His logical mind was not convinced he should feel any relief at all. But that smile. There was no reasoning with that damn beautiful smile. 

“Either or is fine. Doing a little shopping?”

“Yes, I was looking for…” he took note of his surroundings for the first time and found himself in the children’s section. Panic threatened him a split second before his phone chimed in his pocket. Perfect! “… something for my little brother. He was ever so disappointed to be left at home.” Never mind that he currently appeared to be in the girls section judging by the level of pastels surrounding them. 

“Oh, and here I thought you were coming to check on me.” He held his hand to his chest in an exaggerated display. “I’m wounded.”

Mycroft's brain frustratingly refused to engage, resulting in him gawping like a fish. 

Greg laughed. “Relax Myc, I’m joking.”

A wisp of forced laughter escaped his throat. “Aha, yes, of course.” _Awkward! Painfully so! Say something!_ “I am looking forward to our outing later today.” _Anything but THAT!!_

Greg sighed, rubbed the back of his neck and looked off to Mycroft’s right. Mycroft's mind instantaneously took off on it's own track. _He's going to cancel. He doesn’t want to waste his afternoon with me. At least he's trying to find the best way to let me down easy. He could tell me to piss off straight away. Maybe that would be better._ Each subsequent thought added steel to Mycroft's spine but also distracted him from the majority of what Greg was saying.

“…go up without me.”

“Yes. Right.” 

“Yeah, I figure it’ll be at least 2 more hours until I can go. I have at least one more board to wax up and then I have to grab some food or I’ll die of hunger straight away. But they like my work so much they’re gonna fix my binding _and_ pay me! How sweet is that? Stand up people, the ones who run this shop.” 

“Yes, quite decent of them.”

“Well if I ever want to board today I better get back to it. I’ll message you later.”

_Wait, what?_ “Later?”

“Yea, as in I’ll find you after lunch. Unless…”

“NO!” It was poor Greg’s turn to jump a mile. “No. I’m sorry, yes, I’ll keep my mobile turned up, message me when you are through.”

Greg gave him a wary look. “Are you sure you feel ok?” 

“Yes, quite sure. I’ll just, um, leave you to your work then. Until later Gregory!” _I am not running. This is not fleeing. I do not flee!_ He did walk quickly, miraculously managing to not knock anything over in his not-fleeing process.

Outside the shop Mycroft failed miserably at maintaining calm. What had he done? Greg must think him insane! Certifiably mad, most certainly spastic at a minimum! Why couldn’t he have stayed in his room?! Was Greg’s pull on him really that powerful?

_He is still planning to spend the afternoon with you despite your… unfortunate display._

Despite this knowledge Mycroft had no doubt left Greg with a poor impression. How best to repair the damage? He didn’t have the first clue but knew someone who might, God help him.

He flicked his text app open and typed furiously as he walked. **I’m afraid I’ve ruined everything. He thinks me weak minded for sure. I hate to ask but I may need your help.**

He hit send and stuffed his mobile back in his pocket. The return chime came almost as soon as he let it go. Far too soon. Anthea had to be preoccupied with her friends by this point in the day. 

Which meant he hadn’t sent the message to Anthea. _Shit._

**wat are you talking about as if I would help u jerkcroft** Sherlock tended to make more typing errors when angry. 

**Nevermind, that wasn’t meant for you.** He tried but knew Sherlock would not be so easily dissuaded. 

**whos he? Are you actually talking to people?**

**No, I’m skiiing.**

**you aren’t now. you are weak minded though**

**Yes, thank you brother dear, now stop pestering me.**

**you texted me for help**

**Accidentally**

**for ruining something with a he**

_Oh God, please let him be young enough for this to fly over his head._ If Sherlock deduced what he was talking about he would absolutely blab to their parents and Mycroft would have to endure the prying questions upon his return. What’s his name? What does he like to do? When is he coming to dinner? Only there would be nothing to tell them. 

**you like this he. in a romantic sense. gross**

**I’m going back to ignoring you now.** Things couldn’t possibly get any worse for him today. At least, he hoped not. His best option now was to go up on the mountain and let some of his frustration out. 

\------ 

Being out on the mountain did help his anxiousness to a point. After 3 long runs Anthea finally answered his message. She suggested they meet outside a smaller lodge at the bottom of the longest trail so she could get all the details. There was a large campfire constantly burning outside that made the perfect meeting spot. 

Greg messaged soon after to find out where to meet him. It would take him a good 20 minutes or more to reach this lodge from the main building, giving Mycroft plenty of time to recount his shame. 

“Well, it doesn’t sound all that bad.” 

Mycroft glared. 

“I mean, if you were, say, _interested_ in him and trying to play things cool, you failed, but it’s still not as bad as you think.” 

“For the last time, I’m not.” His assertion was unconvincing even to him. 

Anthea closed her eyes, rubbed at her forehead and muttered. “Oh my God.” She looked directly at him and asked “Then why are you so worried about this?” 

His first instinct was to deny being worried at all. At the same time he knew the argument was rendered invalid by very virtue of Anthea’s presence and their current topic of conversation, so he didn’t bother. “Well, who wants to be friends with a lunatic?” 

“Lunatic is a gross overstatement. It was only a little bout of awkwardness.” 

“That doesn’t make me feel any better about it.” 

“Listen, for whatever reason you may be concerned about this, all you have to do is relax a little. He already likes you…” Mycroft frowned at what that statement did to his heart. “… enough to spend the afternoon with you. Just take a calming breath and be yourself.” 

“How trite. Did you get that from a children’s movie?” 

“It may be trite, but adults tell kids that because it's true. If you let things flow naturally everything will turn out fine.” 

“What if it doesn't?” 

“Then he isn’t worth your time anyway. At least you’ll know.” She smiled then and a familiar spike of dread shot through him. “Can I ask what you did with him last night?” 

Not precisely what he expected her to ask. “Talked, mostly.” 

“And were you being genuine with him?” 

Thinking back on it, he had revealed more of his true self to Greg last night than anyone else he had known for less than a day. Hell, probably even more than to some people he had known for years. And Greg had praised him. Legitimately appeared to enjoy his company. 

_What if it was a fluke? What if it had all been a lie? What if he decides he hates me after all? What if Greg himself was not being genuine? So many unknowns, it’s terrifying to consider!_

“Thought so.” Anthea said after a long silent moment of watching him. “Whichever way it goes, I’ll help you, if you want me to.” 

“…thank you Anthea.” Muttered so softly she might have missed it if she weren’t paying attention. 

“Not a problem, Holmes.” 

Mycroft watched the bottom of the slope the entire time they spoke. Just now he picked out Greg’s terribly mismatched kit fast approaching and felt his entire body tense up. Anthea nudged him. “You spotted him, didn’t you? Remember to breathe now. Good luck!” He hadn’t even noticed he’d stopped until she mentioned it. He looked back into the fire and concentrated on simply breathing until he heard someone slide to a stop behind them. 

“Hi Myc!" Breathlessly spoken. 

“Hello Greg.” His greeting came out evenly for perhaps the first time in their short acquaintance and he counted it as a win. Greg turned to Anthea which prompted Mycroft to introduce them to each other. 

“Nice to meet you Anthea. Mycroft never mentioned having such a beautiful friend. Are you coming up with us?” 

“Same, thank you Greg. No, I was just heading in to warm up a bit. You boys have fun.” With that she grabbed her gear and headed toward the lodge. 

The ‘beautiful’ comment prickled but the fact that Greg didn't watch her go soothed it. 

“Alright, let’s get going! Seems like the conditions are pretty decent.” 

“Passing fair on most of the trails. It’s been terribly crowded as long as I’ve been out here.” 

“Really? Ah, no worry, we’ll make the most of it.” 

——— 

Skiing with Greg made even fair conditions seem like fresh powder. They went run after run, sometimes racing each other, sometimes pulling jumps or other tricks against each other, and the afternoon flew by. It was by far the most fun Mycroft ever had on a ski slope. He found one of his favorite parts were the lift rides in between runs when he got to know more about Greg. They talked about all kinds of things, mostly school and family. 

“You say you don’t get to go snowboarding very often, but you are quite the competent rider. How do you practice?” Mycroft asked during one such ride. 

“When I was a kid I went to live with me Gram for a few years. Family drama and all that. She lives in a little town near Annecy.” 

“You lived in France?”

“Yes, for about 3 years. Why does it not surprise me that you speak French?”

“French, German, a bit of Italian, Spanish, and Russian.” _Oh dear sweet lord he speaks French too?_

“Right, of course you do. What, no Latin?”

“I’m working on it. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to go on a tangent. Please continue.” _In French, please continue in French._

“Now I don’t remember what I was saying. Oh right!” _Damn, back to English then._ “So she worked in one of the resorts up in the Alps and couldn’t leave me alone. So she would bring me up every weekend and I’d be out on the slope all day. I suppose it’s like riding a bike, you never really forget how to do it. Don’t get me wrong, London is great and all but sometimes I really miss that town.” 

“Do you go visit your Grandmother often?” 

“Not nearly as often as I’d like. Last year I got to go see her around this time and let me tell you, the place at Christmas was damn near magical. Not to mention the choice slopes. You should see it sometime.” 

“I would love to.” _If only he meant that in the way I heard it._ Mycroft had to forcibly put off the daydream of he and Greg strolling the picturesque streets of Annecy at Christmastime until later. 

“It’s perfect if your family is ever looking for a vacation spot. Draws thousands of families every year. Speaking of which, do you have a lot of siblings?” 

“No, just the one.” 

“Only one little brother eh? How old is he?” 

“He’s nine years old. His name is Sherlock and though he won’t admit it he still enjoys playing pirates. Especially when he can drag me into it.” 

“You should count yourself lucky. I have 3 younger sisters and they like to play makeover with yours truly.” 

“Makeover, as in…?” 

“As in lipstick, nail polish, eye shadow, even other make-ups that I’m not even sure what they’re for! If I don’t play along then I’m the one in trouble. How is that fair?” 

“A travesty of justice, to be sure.” Mycroft said around a chuckle. 

“So you and Sherlock play this deduction game you were talking about yesterday. Is he as good at it as you are?” 

“He is rather good, but no. Sherlock is admittedly a very bright child but I am still the smart one.” 

Now Greg chuckled. “I don’t imagine he’d be very happy to hear that.” 

“The full wrath of the dread pirate Redbeard would no doubt rain upon my head if he did.” In fact, there was no faster way to invoke Sherlock’s anger that Mycroft was aware of. Except to call him childish, apparently. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t rat you out.” 

“And I won’t request to see pictures of your sister’s handiwork.” 

“Deal.” They shook gloved hands to seal the truce. 

By the time Greg was tired enough to declare the last run Mycroft was completely exhausted. He was incredibly disappointed to see the afternoon end, but the light had long since waned and the dip in temperature was impossible to ignore any longer. They made their way back to the main lodge and divested themselves of skis and board. 

“Whew, that was fun! Thanks again for waiting for me today.” 

“Anytime. I had fun as well. So, what are you planning to do now?” _Bold move, sir._

“I’m gonna hit the shower, maybe find me mates and go grab some food. Not sure if I feel like going to the ballroom tonight though. How about you?” 

“Pretty much the same.” 

“Going to go find that cute girl from earlier? What was her name? Andrea?” 

Mycroft restrained himself from squirming. “Anthea. No, she is only a good friend and she’s likely with her other friends already. I can do without their company.” 

“Gotcha. Well, if you get bored message me, you could come hang with me and my mates if you like.” 

“That’s very kind of you, but I don’t think that’s necessarily a good idea.” 

“How come?” Greg appeared honestly disappointed. 

Mycroft couldn’t repress his urge to fidget any longer. “I, um, tend not to do especially well in groups.” This wasn’t completely accurate. In formal group settings he excelled, often taking control and making things run smoothly. In informal gatherings of friends he tended to be the outsider. He could clearly see how it would go. He would try his best to remain in the background, but one or more of Greg’s mates would inevitably pick up on Mycroft’s feelings. Then everything would promptly descend straight into hell for him. He couldn’t risk it. 

“Alright. But if you change your mind you’ve got my number.” 

“Indeed. Thank you. Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Sure, we’ll see. Bye Myc!” He turned to enter the lodge. 

“Goodbye.” After he was out of earshot “Gregory.” 

Mycroft made his way to the equipment check to drop off his skis for the night feeling equal parts blissful and sad. It truly had been a wonderful day. Anthea’s advice turned out to be sound, but he was obviously going to need to work harder at compartmentalizing his feelings. Greg was indeed worth his time. Just not in the way he wanted. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is this what people deal with? Mycroft doesn’t like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings, I’m back with a new chapter! It’s been so nice being able to write again. Heads up, we’re heading into some slightly angsty territory today. Still no beta or britpick, characters belong to all original creators. 
> 
> Also remember if you see underlined text it means they’re speaking French. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The unfortunate thing about staying in a resort such as this was the finite number of places one could go for certain things. Dinner, for example. Mycroft had worked up a voracious hunger, but was concerned that if he went down to eat right away he would run into Greg with his friends. Greg, being a convivial sort, would no doubt extend his invitation to join them again. Best to avoid the situation altogether.

He considered ordering room service. That would be tricky to explain to his parents who had specifically sent him on this trip to socialize. Besides, just because his parents could afford such things didn’t mean they allowed their children to piss their money away. Room service here was easily twice the price of going to get it himself. He would earn a lecture for sure. Ultimately he decided he could wait a while longer.

He laid down on his bed after a hot shower, needing rest as much as he needed food at the moment. _If only circumstances were a bit different. If only this were a private holiday._

He searched photos of the city of Annecy on his mobile and found it as charming as a city during the holidays could be. Fairy lights reflecting off the waterfront, charming little seasonal markets hawking crepes and hot cocoa with formidable snow covered mountains far in the distance. Strains of festive music weaving gently through the crowds keeping patrons feeling charitable toward their fellow man as they went to and fro.

Yes, he could see it all quite clearly.

“Didn’t I tell you this place was magical?” Greg’s sultry voice came readily to mind as he materialized at Mycroft's side. Suddenly they were leisurely strolling those busy streets together allowing the holiday spirit to wash over them.

“Indeed, my dear. I never doubted you for a moment.”

“I’m so glad you could come with me, love.”

Tingles ran through his whole body at the endearment. “As am I. Would you have thought we would be here this time last year?”

“That’s right! We met right around this time last year, didn’t we? I have to admit I never would have considered it at the time. You?”

“I could only hope. Perhaps we should go have a special dinner to commemorate the occasion?”

“Sounds good to me. But before that I have something...” Gregory stopped them partway across the bridge to rummage around his coat pockets. Eventually he came up with a small velvet box. “I wanted to get you something to celebrate.”

Heart thundering Mycroft opened the box to reveal a simple ring of silver. The band shone brilliantly as it reflected every light twinkling around them. “Gregory.” He breathed, barely audible to even himself. 

“Do you like it Myc? It’s nothing special, I know, but I really hope you do.”

“Oh, do stop saying such things!” Mycroft swatted at his shoulder. “Nothing special?” He huffed as he reverently plucked the smooth metal from the box. He slid it onto his right hand ring finger, vision blurring as he did so. “How…how could it… not…”His voice kept wobbling, preventing him from finishing the sentiment. Warm arms enclosed him.

“You really like it?”

“Of course I do, ridiculous man.” Mumbled into Greg’s shoulder.

Mycroft felt Greg’s chest rumble. He lifted his head and met Greg’s sparkling brown eyes intent on explaining how much his present meant, tears or no. He found he didn’t need to. 

“Happy anniversary Mycroft.”

“Happy anniversary, my dear Gregory.” 

Greg’s hand slid softly around the back of Mycroft’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss. Instantly the city faded away in favor of the heady rush of Greg’s body so close to his. They were no longer standing, now inexplicably laying on a soft surface away from prying eyes. His breathing became ragged as Greg’s hands wound behind him and down to his lower back. As close as he was Mycroft couldn’t fully feel Greg's weight. His heat. It was maddening. All the same his heart thumped, growing louder by degrees. It soon got so loud that Greg pulled away, face flushed and eyes burning with desire, and asked “Do you hear that?”

“It's nothing. Ignore it.” He tried to pull Greg back to him but he couldn't get a proper grip on him as he faded away. The noise grew louder still, sharper. Mycroft opened his eyes and he was back in his hotel room staring at the ceiling with someone insistently rapping on his door. 

_This is decidedly NOT the way to compartmentalize your feelings._

Even with his logical mind scolding him, even with the knowledge that it was all a dream, his disappointment was crushing. There was no ring. That he even checked his finger for it made him furious at whoever was interrupting his interlude.

It was probably that nitwit Charles again. Last night he misplaced his key card and Mycroft had to let him in. “You were supposed to get a replacement key Charles.” He shouted at the door while he adjusted himself. He then donned his dressing gown for good measure. _Perhaps it’s a lucky thing Charles didn’t replace his card after all._

Mycroft hauled the door open and promptly regretted it. “Mr. Barrie.” Bloody hell, he’d forgotten that Mr. Barrie was looking for him. 

“Good evening, Mr. Holmes.”

“I’m not doing it.”

“Someone tipped you off, eh? Come on Mycroft, it’s only for about an hour or so.”

“I fail to see how live music would enhance a room full of teenagers throwing icing at each other.”

“It’s a gingerbread house decorating competition, not a food fight. The music adds to the festive atmosphere!”

“That doesn't mean a food fight won't happen. You know that as well as I do. As for festive atmosphere, my playing is preferable to plugging literally anyone’s mobile into a speaker because?”

Mr. Barrie sighed. It wasn’t that Mycroft disliked the man. He was a good instructor and a decent person overall, but he occasionally got a bit overly enthusiastic about inspiring his pupils to explore their interests and talents. Annoyingly so. “Because it’s not every day you get to play a grand piano…”

“I’ve played plenty. My grandparents own one.”

Mr. Barrie held up a finger. “I thought you of all people knew how rude it is to interrupt someone Mr. Holmes. Please let me finish.” Mycroft crossed his arms and waited for Mr. Barrie to continue. “A grand piano commissioned by a German duke in 1861; the construction of which was overseen directly by C. F. Theodore Steinweg himself. It narrowly survived both world wars by sheer luck and is the pride of this resort. It’s in the ballroom, have you seen it?”

“In passing.” He'd only seen the shadow of the thing on a raised platform, separated from the main floor surrounded by wooden railings. He hadn’t given it a second thought. All these types of places had some sort of piano in their main rooms to help them appear high-class. He often assumed they were merely expensive decorations. 

“The keyboard is kept locked so not just anyone can mess with it. With a teacher's recommendation however, they could be persuaded to let one of our students play it. Under supervision, of course.”

“You're having me on.”

“It’s true, ask any staff member. They all learn about it when they’re trained. There’s a plaque on the wall next to it with the entire history of the thing!”

Mycroft leaned against the door frame but said nothing.

“You may assume with such a treasured piece that anyone caught throwing foodstuffs anywhere close to it, and you by extension, will be ejected. Come on, what do you say?”

Unfortunately for Mycroft, he had never been able to resist a piece of living history. So after dinner he made his way to the ballroom to investigate Mr. Barrie’s claims. The man wasn’t lying. The plaque explained major historical events in broad strokes and a quick internet search revealed far more detail. The entire timeline of this particular piano’s existence was mapped out including the time it barely survived a bombing towards the end of the Second World War. 

The resort had several offers over the years from museums eager to take the thing off their hands, most of which were still standing. They employed a technician full time to keep it in top condition and had musicians come in regularly to keep it in use. And he could be one of the select few who got to play it? How could he possibly refuse?

After changing into a more suitable set of clothes and a few minutes of he and Mr. Barrie convincing the no nonsense keeper of the instrument that Mycroft knew what he was doing he was allowed access to the piano itself. He examined it closely, running a hand along the side. Right at the end he found the repaired section from when a chunk of rock had gouged a hole in it during the bombing. It was so masterfully repaired Mycroft seriously doubted he would have been able to find it without prior knowledge of where the damage was. The entire rest of the instrument was in tact from the date it was built, except the parts meant to be changed out, of course. 

He sat down at the keyboard and tested the tuning. Spot on, as expected. From here it was easy for him to lose himself in the familiar motions of playing, letting the notes flow from his fingers with highly practiced ease. 

Around him students began filtering into the hall, though not nearly as many as last night. Aside from a few energetic attendees singing along with whatever carol he happened to be playing, they left him alone and he was content being largely oblivious to his surroundings. Mr. Barrie asked him to stop a few minutes in so he could explain how the competition was going to work. During this break Mycroft spotted Anthea, Annie, and Melissa among the crowd. He wasn’t surprised they made a point to show up for a competition like this. Knowing Anthea, they'd probably win the thing. 

Someone laughed loudly and everyone in room turned toward the source of the sound.

“Is there a problem, Ms. Branford? Ms. Hayes?” 

“No, sorry Mr. Barrie, sir.” Both girls continued giggling amongst themselves. Mr. Barrie stared at them a moment more before continuing his explanation, but Mycroft didn’t hear anything further.

Greg stood directly behind the disruptive girls with another young man Mycroft did not recognize, apparently forming a group of four. Mycroft watched as both girls eventually turned to Greg, one latching onto his arm while the other leaned fully against his side.

Unfortunately Mycroft knew these girls from school. The infamous Lydia Branford, who Anthea was stuck rooming with this trip, and her best friend Caroline Hayes were well known man eaters. Serial daters. Whores, if one was being crass about it. Of course a man as handsome as Greg would be a major target for them. Apparently Greg had fallen for whatever they promised him. 

_You have no right to be upset. You have no claim on him whatsoever. None._ Once again, Mycroft’s rational knowledge of hard facts did nothing to improve his emotional state. An all too familiar ache formed in his chest. At once he was sick to death of it. Of all of this. 

“Now if you could all give a nice hand to tonight’s musician, our own Mycroft Holmes.” Mr. Barrie’s sudden introduction snapped Mycroft out of his increasingly dark thoughts. He scrambled to stand and bow at the polite applause. Upon taking his seat again his eyes were drawn up to where Greg was, somewhat desperate to know if he had any reaction at all to hearing his name with two willing women close at hand.

Mycroft found Greg already looking in his direction. When he noticed Mycroft looking back at him he smiled and pulled his arm from Lydia's grasp to wave at him. Mycroft gave a little wave back, taking no small pleasure out of the utterly appalled look on Lydia’s face. _Take that, you pernicious harpy._

How quickly his mood shifted with such small acknowledgment from Greg. _Dangerously quickly._ Mycroft turned his attention back to the piano and poured all of his focus into his playing. To spend the entire evening analyzing Greg’s every move with the girls would be masochistic. And if one or two somber pieces found their way into his repertoire that night, well, hopefully none but he would know the reason. 

\------

Another hour and a half passed before Mr. Barrie stopped Mycroft to begin judging the contest. He stood, glad to stretch a bit after sitting so long. 

_Don’t look, DON’T LOOK!_ Damn if he didn’t immediately look toward where he’d last seen Greg. He wasn’t there. Everyone moved around once they were assigned a house to work on. _Don’t loo… hell, who am I kidding?_ Dignity fully abandoned Mycroft craned his neck in search of Greg’s group.

Across the room he spotted them, paired off. Lydia with the nameless guy and Caroline tucked close to Greg’s side. He hadn’t expected anything different, but that didn’t make seeing the confirmation any less painful. Perhaps he could slip away now without being noticed. It’s not as if he was needed here for anything else.

As Greg was chatting with his friends his head gradually turned in Mycroft’s direction. When Greg caught Mycroft looking at him he gently separated himself from Caroline, telling her something Mycroft was too far away to hear, then started making his way over to the piano. Predictably, Mycroft's breath stopped in his throat and his mind went off in several directions at once, much the same as every other encounter they’d had so far.

_Breathe, damn you! He always greets you first and you end up looking daft. This time, beat him to it._

One steadying breath, in and out, then he went to the railing and rested his arms on top. “Greg, how unexpected to see you here.” _Very good. A nice strong greeting for a change._

“Hey Myc! I could say the same for you. Why didn’t you tell me you were playing tonight?” 

Greg looking up at him on the platform invoked some rather interesting images. _Later._ “I didn’t know myself until Mr. Barrie over there twisted my arm with a rare instrument.”

Greg blinked. “Rare instrument?” He leaned up and lowered his voice so as not to be overheard. “Are you saying he threatened you?”

Mycroft took in Greg’s dead serious expression and laughed. “No, no obscure medieval torture equipment was used to convince me. I was referring to the piano, actually.”

“Oh right, right, _that_ instrument, I knew that! It’s a special one, is it?” Greg’s face flushed a charming shade of pink that Mycroft found quite endearing. 

“Yes, quite rare. I couldn't help myself. You must be exhausted after such a long day. What changed your mind?” Mycroft glanced pointedly over at Greg’s group.

Greg sighed. “You see my friend Darren over there? He picked up those girls in the lodge today and he really likes… um… damn I forgot her name again.” Greg yawned the end of his sentence.

“Lydia.”

“Yea, that’s it. I’m the only other single guy here from the team, so he practically begged me to come along to keep her friend company.”

“With those two he could have shown up alone and gotten two for one.” Mycroft muttered.

“Ouch. Seems they aren’t big fans of yours either. Called you a toff.”

“Better to be a toff than a whore. I’ve told them so on more than one occasion.”

Greg laughed. “Harsh Myc! I see why they hate you.”

“They can hate me as much as they like. If the shoe fits, as they say. Would it interest your friend to know that just last night my roommate was with Ms. Branford for some hours?”

“Honestly, I don’t think he’d care at this point. Not like he’ll ever see her again after this. It’s a done deal.”

“I see.” Mycroft had to bite back the obvious follow up questions. Hard. It was none of his business. What would he do if Greg’s plans for tonight happened to include Caroline?

“So what’s the big deal about this piano then?” Greg walked around to the stairs and up onto the platform. He took a seat on the abandoned piano bench while Mycroft gave him a condensed run down of what he'd learned about it.

“Is that right?” Greg looked at the keyboard. “I play around with guitar a little but I always thought it might be nice to play piano. How long have you been playing?”

“I can’t say for sure. I'll simply say I don’t remember a time when I didn't.”

“Thought so, since you made it look so easy.”

Mycroft had to look away, hoping to somewhat hide his own blush. “Why, thank you. If you already play guitar with any sort of ease, the transition to piano should be relatively simple.”

“Hmm, yeah, maybe one day.”

“Perhaps I could show you some things.”

“It’s nice of you to offer, but I’d have no way of practicing. I'd end up forgetting.” Greg glanced at the keyboard.

_Much like he'll forget about you once this trip is over._

“Ah, what the hell. C'mere, show me where the G chord is.”

Greg turned his entire body toward the keyboard. Mycroft leaned over Greg’s shoulder to show him the requested chord. “Here. From here you can...” and Mycroft ran through a G major chord progression. 

“I'd try, but I won’t sound anywhere as smooth as that.”

Mycroft considered a moment. “Here, budge over. We'll do something simple for right now.” 

Greg slid down the bench and Mycroft sat, close enough to feel the body heat radiating from Greg's thigh. “Try this with your left hand.” He reached in front of Greg and showed him a simple sequence of notes. “Now you try it. Start slowly.” Greg picked up the notes after only a couple of passes. “Good, now speed up a bit.” Greg obeyed, gradually getting faster. “Alright, that’s fast enough. Keep playing that speed.” Then Mycroft joined in with his right hand, playing the melody part. 

Greg turned to Mycroft. “Hey, that sounds pretty.. ah, shit.” He missed a note while he wasn’t looking at the keyboard, but he got it back quickly. “Ok, now it sounds pretty good again. So if I move it down?” Greg moved the sequence down to the minor key. Mycroft followed and the tune took on a melancholy tone.

“You see? You would probably pick it up rather quickly if you could practice.”

“Maybe, if I had an teacher too.” Greg moved the tune back up to the major key.

“Perhaps I could offer my services. I warn you, my lessons are not cheap, but you would receive a friend discount.”

“Oh yeah? What’s your school called? The Holmes Posh School of Fancy Piano?”

Mycroft scoffed. “That is ridiculously presumptuous. Tacky, even.”

“Fair point. How about, The Holmes Institute? The Holmes Conservatory?”

“You seem intent on including my surname for this fictitious school.”

“Of course! It conveys a sense of tradition and family and… and a reputation for inspiring excellence!” Greg’s attempt at mimicking Mycroft’s accent sent them both into giggles. 

“You should perhaps stick to your usual accent. It’s suits you better.”

“What? I thought my public school accent was impeccable!”

“That’s debatable.” 

“Greg?” An unmistakably female voice chimed in. Greg looked around Mycroft to Caroline standing at the railing. Greg’s friend and Lydia stood a short distance behind her, waiting. It was only then that they noticed the ballroom had already begun to empty out. “Aren’t you coming?”

“Oh, yeah sure.” Greg stood. “Thanks Myc, I’ll text you tomorrow, ok?” Greg tapped him on the shoulder and walked off, not bothering to wait for Mycroft’s response. Mycroft turned to Caroline, who offered him an icy cold sneer before Greg reached her.

“Did we win?” Greg asked. Caroline attached herself to Greg’s arm as they walked away.

“No, we didn’t even place at all. Weren't you paying attention?” The noise in the room had grown too loud for Mycroft to hear any more of the conversation beyond that. 

_Yes, you are every last bit as foolish and idiotic as your classmates. What were you expecting? You simply can't keep doing this to yourself._

He closed the lid on the keyboard, then sat quietly and waited until the room was mostly empty before making his way back to his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? The way I see it, Mycroft can react in one of two ways - angsty with a chance of fluff in between or extra angsty. I’m leaning heavily on going one way, but I’d like to hear some opinions if you guys have any. 
> 
> Headcanon time - Sherlock plays violin so well because big brother Mycroft was an accomplished piano player. Sherlock, wanting to outdo his brother, picked one of the most difficult instruments he could find to learn and ended up loving it. 
> 
> C.F. Theodore Steinweg was one of the sons in the big time piano manufacturer Steinway & Sons. According to Wikipedia he ran the European plant in Germany while his dad was in New York. If anyone is more versed in piano history and notices any inconsistencies you can let me know. Just know that I tried!
> 
> Thanks again for reading, until next time!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft makes up his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again, I’ve got a new chapter for you today. As always thank you for sticking with my little story! All previous warnings still apply. Enjoy!

**heading up u wanna join?**

Mycroft stared at the message already waiting for him when he woke, time stamped 8:32 am. He hadn’t expected Greg to follow through on his promise to text him. Not after last night and especially not that early in the morning. He dropped his phone on the side table and buried himself in blankets, blocking out every last bit of light in the room. This didn’t stop his brain from working on his current predicament like he hoped it would. As if he hadn’t already spent hours thinking about this last night. 

The way he handled this entire situation was as if he’d never had a crush before in his entire life, which was demonstrably untrue. There were plenty of boys Mycroft found attractive in the past. The intensity of his attachment to this particular one was completely foreign to him. Thinking back he never interacted with any of the previous boys on a purely personal level. Perhaps that was why none of the others wrung him out emotionally the way Greg did. They hadn’t had the opportunity. 

Even so, he'd only known Greg two days. Not even quite that long. By all rights he shouldn’t have had the opportunity either. So how on earth had he become so attached so quickly? By simply speaking to him? Because he found Greg charming and fun to be around? Since Greg appeared genuinely interested in him as a friend in addition to being possibly the single most attractive man Mycroft had ever seen in person? 

Mycroft mentally slapped himself by remembering Greg walking off arm in arm with Caroline. His course of action was clear. He needed to cut off all association before his attachment grew any stronger. There was only the rest of today and tonight to get through, then tomorrow he could go home and forget all about him. It was the only way.

*bling*

Eventually Mycroft stuck a hand out of his blanket nest to grab his mobile. 

**How are you holding up?** This from Anthea. It rather surprised him it took her this long to check on him, considering her level of meddling up to this point.

**Fine**

**Where are you?**

**I fail to see how that’s your business**

**You’re still in your room, aren't you?**

**So what if I am?**

**It’s gone 11.**

Fucking hell, he hadn’t even bothered to check the current time. **I’m having a lie in.**

**Bullshit.**

While he contemplated whether it was worth arguing the point or not she messaged again. 

**It’s no good to sit around moping**

**I am not moping**

**Prove it. Meet me on the hill in 20.**

Mycroft groaned at the prospect of moving from the bed. As usual, she had a valid point. Sitting alone in the room all day with these fruitless, circular thoughts would be akin to torture. Plus he knew if he didn’t show up there, she would surely come here to bother him instead.

**Make it 30.**

**Atta boy!**

He rolled his eyes and hauled himself out of bed. Though the prospect of skiing again had lost all it’s novelty he began putting together clothes for another day on the mountain. It wasn’t as if there was anything else to do when he still couldn’t properly concentrate on schoolwork. One by one he threw his choices onto the bed. His balled up socks missed their mark and landed on the floor. When he bent to pick them up he noticed Greg’s knit hat peering out from underneath. Mycroft picked it up, unsure how it ended up there in the first place. He turned it over in his hands a couple of times, then threw it on the bed with the rest of his clothes.

\------

“Now you know how us girls feel.”

“Interestingly enough, that doesn’t make me feel better. At all.”

“Really? I thought you said this wasn’t effecting you as much as I assumed.” Anthea pointed out with liberal use of air quotes.

“Anthea, please.”

“Ok, ok. I’m just saying. Remember that one guy I went crazy over last year? He fell victim to the toxic twins too.”

“Toxic twins?”

“You never heard that? It’s what the other girls call those two.”

“Very primary school, but apt nonetheless. Surely you are aware that our situations are very different. If it wasn’t one of them it would have been any of the dozens of other girls around here. I bloody well know this.”

Anthea sighed. “And yet.”

Mycroft nodded. “Needless to say I wont be attending tonight’s holiday activities no matter what. Can you do me a favor and return this to him?”

Anthea accepted Greg’s cap. “Sure, if I see him.”

“Thank you. I’m curious, did… did they… end up in your room?”

“No, thank God. Only Lydia and the other guy did.” She shuddered and scrunched her face in disgust. “I snitched on her immediately this time. I think they assigned a chaperone to her personally for the rest of the trip.”

“Excellent.” *bling*

“Yeah, thought you might like that. Are you going out by yourself now?”

“I suppose.” He pulled his phone from his pocket.

“Why don’t you go a few runs with us? It’s more fun with company.”

Mycroft flicked the screen to life, already planning to turn down Anthea's offer. The text was from Greg. **myc? are u around?**

The refusal died on his tongue. “Yes, I believe I shall.”

**Do forgive me for not answering sooner. I decided to go with Anthea and her friends today.**

**Oh.** was all Greg said, followed closely by **I’ll see ya later tho right?**

Mycroft stared at the screen, unsure how to react. Considering Greg’s earlier assumption about his relationship with Anthea, he’d braced himself for a typical straight male response. Something about hitting it or smashing her or whatever violent euphemism for landing a date was currently popular. Not this lukewarm, almost disappointed sounding reply. How unfair that Greg would care if he saw Mycroft again, even in a purely platonic capacity. That little bit of concern was more than enough to spark a devastating amount of hope in him. He needed to crush it. Immediately.

**I don’t expect so. Enjoy the rest of your trip.**

He hit send, then shut his mobile off entirely, thinking perhaps it would have been even better to leave it in the room instead. Staring at the darkened screen he noted a strange yet familiar feeling. A numbness, perhaps. A sort of seeping coldness radiating from within that had nothing to do with being out in freezing temperatures. 

“Hey, are you alright?”

Mycroft started at Anthea's question. “Um, yes. Yes I’m fine.”

She scrutinized him, clearly knowing something had happened. “Whatever you say. Come on, let’s go pick up our skis.”

\------

Mycroft did a few runs, strategically losing track of Anthea’s group after the first one. Thanks to his outing with Greg yesterday he knew which trails he favored and he made sure to avoid them whenever possible. This made the day extra boring for him since he and Greg shared many of the same favorites. All the same he remained extra vigilant for clashing blue coat and red gloves anywhere in his vicinity.

He wasn’t exactly thrilled with his cowardly approach to the situation. Usually he wasn’t the type to avoid a confrontation where one was required. But every time Mycroft would envision how such a conversation would go all he could see was Greg’s usual jovial countenance twist into utter distain aimed squarely at him. Even in his imagination it hurt deeply. He didn’t want to experience the real thing. 

He got off the lift and slid along the now familiar trail many of the runs started from, preoccupied with thoughts of going in for something to eat. His appetite had strangely disappeared all day up until now. Maybe after that he’d go resume his earlier moping. With any luck he could fall asleep straight through until tomorrow when he could be done with this wretched place. 

Coming around a slight curve an unmistakable laugh snapped him out of his thoughts. There was no time for him to stop and no other trails for him to dart off of. Right after he heard Greg’s voice he was there in Mycroft's line of vision, talking with a group of friends directly to his right. The only thing working in his favor was that Greg's back was turned to him. Mycroft pushed himself quickly past them. No sooner did he consider himself home free when he swore he heard Greg shout from somewhere behind him. Without looking back he pushed himself along faster. On impulse he turned down the first trail he came upon in order to escape.

The grade of the first slope was so steep it felt nearly vertical as he all but dropped down it. His stomach jumped up into his throat while his brain shrieked at him _A BLACK TRAIL!!_ He successfully navigated black trails before, only he mentally prepared himself before tackling them every other time. Unfortunately there was nothing he could do about it except try to get down in one piece.

He fought to slow down, stay upright, and not plaster himself against a tree, thighs burning with the effort. He cut too close to cluster of trees and got smacked in the face by some low hanging branches. After that he hit a section of moguls that nearly wrecked him. All through it he managed to keep going, though it was a close thing. The trail eventually leveled off to grades and obstacles he was far more comfortable with and rest of the run went smoothly.

When he reached the bottom he stopped as soon as he could to catch his breath. Of all the reckless things to do! He could have seriously injured himself all because he thought he possibly heard Greg trying to get his attention. He could have been shouting about literally anything amongst his friends. Greg hadn’t seen him.

That theory went out the window when Greg ground to a stop right next to him seconds later. He lifted his goggles onto his helmet and bent down to unfasten one binding so he could push himself as close to Mycroft as he could manage. 

“Myc! Jesus are you alright?” Greg’s apparent concern shocked him even more than the fact that Greg came after him in the first place. 

“Why, yes. Why wouldn’t I be?” The statement came out sounding far less aloof than it sounded in Mycroft's head.

“Why? You went down that slope screaming!” 

“I… did I really?” He certainly did not remember screaming, though his throat did feel a bit rough now that Greg pointed it out.

“Yes!” Greg slapped his thigh for emphasis. “I had to go after you to make sure you were alright! You hit those trees and look here, you’re bleeding!" Greg reached for him. 

He knew he should pull away. His logical mind demanded it, in fact. Inexplicably he did the exact opposite, allowing gloved hands to turn his head as Greg got a better look at whatever the branch had done to his face. Greg cringed. “It looks deep. You need to have this looked at right away.” He reached into a back pocket. “I know I’ve got a clean one here.” In short order he produced a handkerchief. 

While Greg was preoccupied Mycroft touched his gloved hand to his cheek and winced. The fingertips of his light grey glove came away stained bright red. There was enough blood that a few drops ran down his finger and pooled in the creases of his knuckles. His vision swam. “Oh. Gregory?” 

Greg brought the folded handkerchief up. “It’s bleeding a good bit. Just keep pressure on it and follow me.”

“Gregory, I may need… to sit.” Mycroft swayed on his feet. Greg grabbed hold of his arm to stabilize him as best he could while still attached to his snowboard.

“Whoa, easy now.” He popped out of his other binding with one hand and helped Mycroft settle on the ground with the other. Then he pressed the handkerchief to Mycroft's face. “Here, keep pressure on it.” He popped Mycroft's boots out of his skis and stuck them into the snow next to him so they wouldn’t slide away on their own. “I’m going to go find ski patrol. Sit tight, ok?”

“No. I’ll be fine in a moment.” Mycroft held his bloodstained hand away from him. Greg stared, seconds away from ignoring his request. He didn’t want to admit what was wrong. It seemed all he did was make himself look ridiculous or weak in front of Greg. But if he didn’t he'd pass out right here in the snow, likely while Greg was off finding help. “The glove. Take it away, I can’t look at it.”

“Oh! Alright.” Greg took Mycroft’s glove by the clean fingers and gently coaxed it off. “Can’t stand blood?”

He shook his head. “It's only seeing my own that has this unfortunate effect.” Mycroft focused hard on his boots, willing away the nausea. 

“Hmm, don’t take off that handkerchief then. You really should let me go find some help.”

“Just another moment and I can manage. I swear it. You… you can go back to your friends. I’ll be fine.”

Greg scoffed at him. “Seriously?” Mycroft nodded. “Oh sure, I’ll just leave you here bleeding in the snow by yourself. Is your helmet in one piece?” He leaned over Mycroft’s head to check.

“I didn’t hit my head that hard.” He unclipped said helmet and lifted it off his head with his free hand to prove it. It was scuffed, but intact. 

“Then I don’t know what would make you think I would even consider doing such an awful thing.” Greg pulled a familiar blue hat out of his coat pocket and Mycroft suddenly wished for unconsciousness. _Weak AND Ridiculous._

Greg pulled the hat over Mycroft’s head without asking. “I’m not completely sure what I did to make you want to avoid me, but I’m helping you whether you like it or not. I’ll leave you alone once I know you’re ok.”

Mycroft sulked for a moment or two before replying. “Thank you. Is that what Anthea told you? That I’m avoiding you?”

“I don’t need someone else to tell me when I’m being ditched. Especially when it’s this blatant.” Mycroft remained silent, inwardly cringing. “I don’t suppose you’d tell me why?”

Mycroft proudly kept a straight face. “It’s not so easy to explain, I’m afraid.”

“So it’s not only because I was hanging around with girls you don’t like?”

An perfect oversimplification that provided a distraction from the real issue. Mycroft latched onto it. “Mostly that.”

“That’s not exactly fair.”

“How is it not fair? Who one associates with can speak volumes about their character. Those two have very little in terms of good character.”

“You’re saying you doubt your own judgement then? I guess your observational skills aren’t as good as you thought.”

Mycroft prickled. “Perhaps my observations of you were simply incomplete.”

Greg shrugged. “I didn’t even like them that much. I was only helping out my friend. But if you want to stop talking to me based on that one thing, I’ll respect your decision. After you’re not bleeding anymore.”

_I don’t. I really, really don’t._ “Fine then. Let’s try for the infirmary. I believe I can make it now.” Spoken more coldly than the icy air on his gloveless hand. Regardless Greg reached down to give him a hand up. Mycroft pointedly avoided taking it and stood up on his own, perhaps a bit too quickly. The next thing he knew he was pitching forward directly into Greg’s arms, dark edges of his vision rapidly closing in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I have trouble making conflict between these guys, but I think I succeeded here. At least I hope so. Comments on what you thought and how I can improve always appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh, I just love a flustered Mycroft!
> 
> Thoughts? Did I miss something? Comment and let me know!


End file.
